Dear father

Lucky 'ol readers, two in one day...

Just a little something I came up with in a long, boring morning. Purely my own speculation, no canon connections at all apart from mentioning a certain incident involving a dream, a former Sith and an annoyed princess.

Readers be warned- major mush ahead.

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A man walked into his room late one night on a far distant planet. He hadn't told his sister what he was going to do tonight, as he had a fairly clear idea of what she would say about it. he hadn't been sure himself that he was going to go through with it, but the days and minutes had pile up on his shoulders, all the hurt and disappointment, until he realised he needed to pick up a pen, a flimsi and some sealant, and set to work.

It had been an old memory that had prompted this. When his pet Skitter had died, his aunt had sought to comfort the grief-stricken boy by telling him to write something.

"Write a letter to him," she had said, "write a letter and tell him goodbye. Then he'll know and be happy."

He straightened the flimsi, and started to write.

Dear Dad

He stopped. The man who had been his parent had never struck him as the 'dad' sort, had probably been the last person alive to be suitable for 'dad'ship, and in all probability death wouldn't have changed that. He crossed out the line, and wrote instead-

Dear Father

Everything's gone quiet now. Even the Imps- sorry father, the Imperials- have stopped trying to kill us for a while. Han said this morning he almost missed the excitement of the old days, with bounty hunters and Star Destroyers to play tag with, only Leia told him to shut up.

I don't like the quiet. Whenever it's quiet I start thinking about things- about the Death Star, and the Emperor, and wanting to kill you- and I feel terrible inside, almost sick. Leia sent me to see an MD droid yesterday, because she said I look paler than a dead person.

Father, she said you tried to visit her once, in a dream. If you did, I feel sorry for you, because I can guess why you haven't tried again. She isn't pleased with you at all. If I were you, I would leave her alone for a few months. Or maybe a few years.

Did you know that she and Han fancy each other? Everyone else does. Wes shut them both in the locker room a week ago and programmed his astromech to serenade them while they tried to break down the door. Then he paid Chewie to croon Wookie love songs all day afterwards, until Han threatened to shove them both out the airlock. They wouldn't have stopped, only Leia came in and heard who was responsible and nearly did throw them out the airlock.

I miss you father. Whenever I see things like that happen I keep wondering- what would you have said? Would you have been pleased that they love each other? Would you have teased them like Wes? It shouldn't be possible to miss you. We only really met twice. But I think that makes it worse in a way. I never really knew you. Did you like flying? Do you hate soggy Bantha steaks as much as I do? Why did you have to wear that armour? Why did you turn to the darkside? What happened to my mother? I have so many questions, father. I wish you were here to answer them.

I never said thank you, father. For saving me I mean. I never told you how proud I was to have you as a parent. I looked up some of your old exploits as Anakin Skywalker, and you were more of a hero than I could ever be.

I should have asked you about my mother. Am I like her? Is Leia? I suppose we must be a little, but I've never even seen a picture of her. From what Leia says she must have been very beautiful. Somehow I know you loved her more than anyone else.

I guess you're up there now, father, with mother and Ben and Yoda and Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru and Biggs. If it was you I saw during the celebrations on Endor, then all the Jedi must have forgiven you. I am glad they did that, because I have. Even for the fight at Bespin. You probably don't think I should, but I do. I lost a hand, but I gained a father, and that's a lot better. And the hand can be replaced. There's no-one to replace you.

Maybe the hurt will fade away in time, but it's so soon since you died it's like the pain hasn't had a chance to really sink in yet. Every day I get up and walk out of my room, and it's almost as if you're there around the corner of the corridor, and if I run fast enough I can catch you and save you. I keep asking myself if I could have saved you at Endor- if I had learned more from Yoda, if I had been stronger or faster or done something, maybe you would still be here and I wouldn't have to write this.

But I can't change what's happened, so I suppose I'll have to cope with the hurt and move on. There's so much I have to move on for, father- Leia and Han and Chewie and the Rogue Squad... even the droids as well. I have to recover and look after them.

I just wrote this, father, to say what I never had time to on the Death Star. If I could choose anyone in the galaxy as a father, I would still choose you. Every time. I'm so proud of you I'm almost frightened that you lied and my real father really was just a Jedi or a navigator. But not really, because somehow I know you would never have lied to me. Even when you tried to turn me to the darkside, you thought you were telling me the truth.

I think I know why you did that father. You were trying to save me, because you thought that the darkside was the only way I could live. Thank you for caring, father, even if I did almost turn.

There are many things I will have to do now. The Jedi need rebuilding, the droids will need repairing, the Imps- sorry father, I keep forgetting to say Imperials, I hope you aren't offended- will need defending against, and I'll still have to keep Leia and Han from killing each other before they finally decide to marry (the last one might be the most difficult of the lot). Whenever I see them laugh, or in the future when- I hope- I will see an apprentice practice with a lightsaber, I will think of you, and thank you for letting this happen. You saved me, father. I hope I can honour that by doing all these things in your memory.

Wherever you are, I hope you are happy.

Luke.

The writer leaned back, and sighed quietly. He gathered the flimsi up, stuffed it in the bottom of his pocket, and left the room. A note on the table told his friends not to worry, he would only be gone for a few days and he had taken his com with him.

Somewhere inside the complex of buildings, a starfighter engine roared to life.

---

Two days later, as the sky above became a field of stars, a brighter spark streamed towards them like a comet, winking out in red and blue as the frosty air stirred in a cool wind.

In a clearing where no grass grew and no wind blew, on a pile of ashes, something lay.

It lay open to the stars, curled slightly so its letters were shadowed. In the glade among the ashes and dust of a past hero, it lay unmoving. On its surface were a few beads of moisture, invisible in the dusk around it.

A breeze stirred it, breathing a sigh as the words were opened to the starglow above.

Dear father...

The breeze hushed, as they glistened in the light.